"she never came, she never even called"

SO I PUT IT IN MY POCKET AND I DROVE HOME TO ALABAMA.

There is an illustrious clatter of distorted noise around 7pm Saturday evening. A young man is alone on a screened porch angrily thrashing out notes, faster and faster...burying his pain in electronic noise, wearing a veil of feigned sobriety...sneering at the river in the distance. He thought he was alone. Then the door opened. And his mother asked "what are you doing?" He slapped his hand against the strings of the Epiphone Dot, bringing an abrupt end to the noise. All one could hear was the faint "pop" of the electric fence through the amplifier as it's sound passed through the pickups. He looked at her and said, "taking in the air." His mother said, "your finger is bleeding." He looked down and noticed his left index finger was in fact, bleeding from the tip.